


Foolish, Fragile Spine

by ThoughtfulConstellations



Category: Emma Frost (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Codependency, Conflict That Doesn't Have to Do with Jean Grey, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Recovery, Telepathy, forced suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-07-13 22:06:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7139333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoughtfulConstellations/pseuds/ThoughtfulConstellations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Frost. Omega level telepath who can't be touched by another living telepath in the world.  Until she meets her match who leaves her emotionally broken in a way she hasn't been for a long time.  As Emma struggles to come to terms with what's happened to her and how she's going to deal with it, Scott notices her unraveling and takes her away to a place he never thought he'd take anyone.  A place that has helped him recover in the past as he hopes to help her recover, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

> I've been snatched by Emma/Scott so here I am.
> 
> First off, this is going to be a Jean-centric conflict free fic. I'm tired of fics and canon storylines where Emma and Scott fight because Jean's metaphorical ghost keeps hanging around, so there won't be any Jean-centric fighting here. Emma and Jean deserve more than being used to cause the other one pain, so none of that in this fic! I've also been ready to see an Emma-centric storyline where Scott's here to back her up since it's almost always the other way around.
> 
> Second, I'm just going to issue a suicide trigger warning. There are some descriptions of Emma's telepathically forced suicide attempt, so if that's uncomfortable for anyone, here's your warning so you can feel safe!
> 
> Third, this fic takes place right after the storyline Uncanny X-Men volume 1 when Emma and Scott were on their Savage Land vacation around issues #500. So it's after that storyline but right before the arc where Megan Gwynn was beaten up by those anti-mutant guys. Long story short, the setting is on Utopia, and the X-Men line up that was there for the Manifest Destiny arc is the X-Men line up for this fic!
> 
> Fourth, please let me know what you think! I'm a slut for feedback and comments, and if you like it, I HIGHLY welcome comments and kudos ;)
> 
> And last but not least...enjoy! =)

Being an X-Man, let alone a mutant, means that it’s required to have at least one near death experience per week. It’s an unspoken rule, but Emma’s been familiar with this silent expectation since day one, and on day one, she accepted it as easily as she’d accepted and would continue to accept all of the difficult things about her life. But now, years later, she can’t even begin to count the number of near death experiences she’s had just this month alone. So she’s used to almost dying, and she’s resigned herself to the fact that when she dies, it’ll most likely be on the field as an X-Man. She knows that. She’s prepared herself for it. But that doesn’t mean she has to like it. After all, no one really _likes_ getting hurt except for maybe Scott, who carries so much self-loathing and guilt across the breadth of his shoulders that it’s more than vaguely Catholic.

Emma can’t remember how she got here. She knows she was in a fight with a young, inexperienced telepath that she and Scott had gone out to recruit, and she knows that right now she’s under sedation, so she figures she’s in the Infirmary, but it’s driving her crazy that she can’t remember the events that led her to where she is now. Yes, she’s used to almost dying on what is, quite frankly, an almost daily basis, but she’s not used to being admitted to the Infirmary or being under sedation. Her physical body may be sleeping, but by God, her mind won’t stand still.

“Emma.”

Scott’s voice rings out in the space of her mind, and suddenly, Emma sees him in front of her. He looks ok. Tired, his limbs hanging down to the floor with the weight of his exhaustion, but that’s to be expected after such a long battle. Immediately, Emma goes to him, watching as he holds out his arms to her. She’ll never get used to the feelings of safety and relief that flood through her entire body every time she sees him, and her stomach flips a little as she looks at him.

“Darling, why are you in my mind? Why am I sedated?” she asks, frowning as she walks into his touch. “The last thing I remember is going out to recruit that nasty child and then his mind going through mine.”

“Whatever he did to you wasn’t good,” Scott says, and Emma can see by the look in his eyes that he’s clearly concerned, though that’s not something particularly new about him. He always looks concerned—by this point, it’s just kind of his resting face. After years of trying to lead, trying to keep the mutants alive, it would only make sense that concern and worry are permanent features across his face.

“What happened?” she asks. “I’m certainly still alive because if I were dead, I’m not convinced I’d be able to talk to you like this, but you don’t look happy.”

“What exactly do you remember?” Scott asks her without really answering the question. She notices the lack of anything warm in his voice, and her frown deepens. He isn’t the warmest person to begin with, but with her, he’s tender. There’s a softness in him that only she gets to see, the way that only he gets to see that gentler, more embarrassing side of herself, too. But now, it’s like the intense concern that’s tattooed all over his face is the only thing that’s filling his heart.

“I remember we got a call to bring in a new telepath, so I was your second,” she replies. Now that she thinks about it, she finds some spots in her mind that are blank, and empty holes in her memory aren’t common. Not for her. Like Scott’s hot to the touch, she lets go of him and looks up at his face. She can’t see his eyes through his visor—not really—but she can make out how he’s feeling just by the set of his mouth. His mouth…she’s always loved his mouth, she thinks as she tries not to let the panic filling her up from the pit of her stomach overwhelm her. “I don’t remember after that. What happened, Scott? I don’t get my memory wiped like this.”

Scott takes a breath, and that’s when Emma really starts to panic. The air around them gets tighter and redder, and Scott reaches out for her again. “Em, breathe. Breathe. You need to relax, or you’re going to kick me out of your head.”

“Just tell me what happened,” she demands.

“He was an omega level telepath. Stronger than either of us thought,” Scott says, speaking quickly, as if he knows that he only has minutes to spare before Emma freaks and kicks him out, too. “We tried talking to him— _you_ tried talking to him, but he wasn’t having it. When you tried to enter his mind to attempt to calm him, he panicked, and he went through you like I’ve never seen anyone do, Emma.”

She stares into his eyes now with intensity. “What? There are only two telepaths who are stronger than I am, and one of them is your dead ex-wife, Scott. What happened after that?”

“Read my mind,” Scott demands, something he only does whenever he can’t find out how to put it in words. “But Emma…be careful.”

It’s like she can’t stop the flow that comes next. She sees an image of herself through Scott’s eyes where she’s collapsing, screaming something else. Images of herself running out of the young telepath’s house as quickly as she can and stumbling to her knees outside. Images of her coming back together, pulling herself back into one piece without saying anything else. Walking back into the house as Scott continues to talk to the mutant. Scott noticing her but not paying attention as she quietly walks into the kitchen. Taking a knife and going to the bathroom. Silently opening the veins in her wrists as she sits still without saying a word.

Suddenly, she stumbles away from him and looks up at him with large, uncharacteristically terrified eyes. “No. I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t try to kill myself. Scott, what—no.”

“I found you as you were bleeding out on his bathroom floor,” Scott says quietly, and for the first time, she sees something beyond concern flicker over his muscles. She sees fear.

“I would never try to…to _kill_ myself,” she says, but as she tries to deny it, she remembers what her mind had been trying to forget. She feels all the intense swells of emotion: worthlessness, never being enough, insecurity, self-loathing. She hears her father’s voice in her head yelling at her and telling her that she will never be worthy of the Frost name. She remembers her father refusing to pay ransom money for her because she deserved whatever her kidnappers did to her.

“Emma—“ Scott tries to say, but she shakes her head hard, this time in disbelief.

“My God,” she whispers. “No. No, no, no.”

“Emma, hey.” He reaches out for her again but pauses, not wanting to touch her unless she allows him to. “Hey. It’s ok. You’re going to be fine.”

 _You don’t know that_ , she wants to say, but she can’t find the words. She’s not one for melodrama as it is—it’s so unnecessary and just not _her_. “He wanted me to…he told me…”

“You’re in the Infirmary now,” Scott says gently. “Dr. Rao has you sedated for the time being, and Mindee’s streaming me in right now.”

“This is so…” Emma takes a step away from him again and turns away. “I want to be alone, Scott.”

“Emma.”

“I want to be alone,” she repeats. “Leave, or I will kick you out of my mind, and Mindee will not be able to let you back in again.”

When she turns around, Scott is gone.

* * *

 

Emma sits for hours in her mind. At least it feels like hours. She doesn’t pay attention to how much time passes because time is only a concept not a real thing whenever she’s in her mind like this. She just knows that she sits quietly and waits to wake up, silently willing herself not to think about what Scott has revealed to her. If she thinks about it, she’ll be opening up a part of herself that she’s tried to keep in the back of her mind for years, and she doesn’t want to do that. Not after all the hard work she’s put in.

She looks down at her hands, trying to see if there is any indication of slashes going up her wrists. She knows that her mind is seeing only a representation of her physical body, and what she sees is what she wants to see right now, so she sees nothing. When she touches her wrists, touches to feel her pulse, she can’t find a single scar on them.

As she examines herself physically—never internally, not right now, she can’t do that now—she can’t help thinking about her brother. She’d been the one to find Christian, and as a result, she’d been the one to save him from hanging himself until he was dead. Her mind goes back, flashing through various parts of her memory. She lets herself relive that sense of helplessness she’d experienced then. Thinking about her brother nearly dying is painful, but it’s nowhere near the amount of pain she’d feel if she allowed herself to think about what has just happened to her.

One half of her wants to wake up. She wants to wake up and continue on with her every day life to prove to Scott and to anyone else who witnessed that embarrassing display of emotion back at the telepath’s house that she’s ok. She’s always ok, and besides, even if she isn’t, it’s not like anyone will care that much. To the rest of the team, she’s always been a villain. A villain and a sad excuse of a replacement for Jean.

But she won’t let herself think about that now because thinking about replacing Jean in all aspects of Scott’s life and the team’s life means thinking about the rush of emotions she’d felt before. Not now, she tells herself, not now.

So she sits. She sits, and she waits until she feels her mind slowly starting to come back into her body. Bit by bit, piece by piece, she feels herself starting to emerge from the strange silence of her mind. After several moments, she finds herself blinking awake. Her head throbs from the strength of the sedative that Nemesis had administered to her, and she feels pain, though it’s more like a dull throb that she knows exists but can’t exactly feel.

Off to her left, she can feel Scott’s mind. She hasn’t laid eyes on him yet, but the force of his thoughts is enough to grab her attention right away. If she concentrates hard enough, she thinks she can hear him talking to her. She can’t quite make out what he’s saying yet, but she catches the shape of his face hovering near hers. Squinting, she tries to get her gaze to focus on him through the fog of the medicine still coursing through her system.

Scott’s words, though quiet and gentle, hurt her head, and she winces, trying to sit up. Resistance from her wrists stops her, and she looks down to try to identify the problem. Cuffs. Padded cuffs. Emma’s eyes stop on them, and suddenly, it’s like her focus is crystal clear. She’s cuffed to the bed, and every time she pulls against the restraints, she feels what she knows is pain, but it’s pain so dulled by drugs that she knows it’s there more than she actually feels it.

“What…?” she tries to ask, forcing her mouth to move. “What the hell?”

“Emma, you’re just in restraints,” Scott says. He’s trying to be soothing, trying to make it seem not quite so bad. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then why the hell am I restrained?” she demands.

“Dr. Rao’s on her way in. She’ll come assess you,” Scott replies. As always, he looks cool, calm, and collected, and Emma envies his ability to appear so undisturbed during a time like this.

“Why?” she asks. “I’m fine. These bandages don’t look like they’re coming off anytime soon. Aren’t I all stitched up and wrapped nicely with a bow?”

Scott doesn’t seem to find that as funny as she does, but then again, her voice is much flatter than usual and doesn’t sound as funny as she’d intended it to be. “I wanted her to take a look at you.”

“Scott, I’m fine. Please release me.”

“Emma, I…” Scott looks reluctant, almost regretful, but he’s saved from trying to find another word to describe it because that’s when Dr. Rao chooses to walk in.

Dr. Rao has never had to treat Emma before. With Emma’s diamond skin, she’s never been injured severely enough to require medical care in the Infirmary until now. Out of everyone on the team, she’s probably one of the only people who sets foot in the Infirmary just to visit someone else. If today were any other day, Emma wouldn’t let a doctor get near her, but as she looks at Dr. Rao’s no-nonsense face, she decides she trusts her.

“It’s about damn time,” she remarks. Her mouth is dry and too full, but she _makes_ the words come out. “I want these off.”

“I see you’re feeling better, Miss Frost,” Dr. Rao replies, giving Emma a taste of her own tone.

“I want them off,” Emma repeats.

Scott gives her a look. His eyes can’t be seen from beneath his visor, but she can just _feel_ the scolding in them. “Emma.”

“Can’t,” Dr. Rao says simply. “All suicide ris—“

“I’m not a suicide risk,” Emma snaps, her eyes blazing more hotly than either Scott or Dr. Rao has seen. “That little bastard wanted me dead, so he used his power on me. I don’t want to die. I’m far too useful. _And_ I’m the best-looking member this team has.”

A flicker of irritation passes over Rao’s face. “Now you _really_ sound like you’re feeling better, Miss Frost.”

“Take the damn things off before I use my powers, which I’m desperately trying not to do out of respect for you, to make you take them off,” she orders. Dr. Rao takes a moment, and for a second, Emma doesn’t believe that she’ll take them off, and she’ll make Emma keep wearing these embarrassing shackles purely just to spite her. But at the last second, Dr. Rao moves toward her.

“Even though I’m removing these against my better judgment, Miss Frost, I’d like to keep you here for a couple days. Just to make sure that you don’t have any lingering effects of the boy’s mind control,” she says. Emma scoffs as best as she can beneath the heavy medication, and she gives her a look.

“I’m fine. I want to go home,” she says firmly. “I want to rest. After all, it’s not every day a girl slits her wrists.”

“Emma.” Scott’s tone is just short of a snap. “Dr. Rao is helping you.”

This time, Emma can’t keep the frustration out of her voice as she glowers up at him through glassy, glazed eyes. “And you’re both treating me like a child. That was _not_ me out there. _I_ didn’t try to kill myself. That wretched little boy used his powers on me and influenced me. I don’t know how much clearer I can say that. It would be like, say, if I used my powers on Dr. Rao here to get her to unshackle me with a smile. She wouldn’t really be happy as she released me because I’d be forcing her to be.”

Dr. Rao catches Emma’s pointed tone, and she returns Emma’s sharp gaze. “Don’t even try it, Miss Frost. I’m already releasing you, even though every bit of my medical training is screaming at me to keep you here until I’m convinced that all aspects of mind control are gone.”

“That nasty creature might have—“

“Emma, he’s dead,” Scott interrupts. Emma blinks several times, and she looks over at Scott with surprise written all over her features.

“What?” she asks.

“The mutant who did this to you. He’s dead,” Scott repeats, cool and calm as ever. “He lost control of his powers, and…and he didn’t make it out.”

Emma stares for a moment in silence. She isn’t sure if she’s awake or if she’s asleep, but she knows that she doesn’t like whatever state of consciousness she’s in. Her breathing slows, and her heart quickens, and she’s just silent. Finally, she swallows and looks away from him. When she speaks, her voice is quiet. “I want to go home.”

“Miss Frost—“

Emma raises her eyes, angry and defiant, to meet Dr. Rao’s. “I want to go home.”

* * *

Emma knows she should let Scott take her to their room in the wheelchair. She’s a powerful enough telepath that even under the influence of drugs and as weak as she is right now, she could mask reality so no one could see her and Scott, but she won’t let Scott have even that victory. If she’s going to leave the Infirmary, she’s going to walk out with her head held high. It’s already enough of a punishment for her to have to wear one of Scott’s old sweatshirts to cover the bandages wrapping her wrists, she thinks.

She hasn’t looked at her wrists yet, not since the first glance she’d taken down in their general direction when she realized she’d been restrained. She doesn’t know why she hasn’t looked, but she notices that she makes a very conscious effort to keep her eyes anywhere but that offensive part of her anatomy. She won’t deal with that today. Like all the thoughts and feelings she can sense lurking deep below the light psychic block she’d put in during her state of unconsciousness, she’ll deal with her reality at another time.

The whole walk back to their room, Emma knows Scott’s longing to support her more than she’s letting him. She thinks it was enough of a compromise to let him put his arm around her for support in the first place, but she won’t let him do anything else. This whole situation is an inconvenience and a deep wound to her pride. Perhaps the wound is deeper than the slashes in her wrists, she thinks and almost says to Scott before she stops herself. He won’t think it’s anywhere near as funny as she does. Hell, she can practically hear him scolding her already.

Even though it feels like a century goes by, Emma and Scott finally reach their room. Emma doesn’t know why she has such a strong emotional reaction, but the second she sees her bed, she feels tearful, though she’s quick to blink the tears away before Scott sees and makes her go back to the Infirmary.

“Lie down,” he orders, his voice gentle. Even when he takes care of her, he gives her orders. Ever the leader. Ever the one to take care of everyone. “I’ll get you water.”

“You don’t have to treat me like I’m breakable,” she says casually. “Darling, I’m a diamond.”

“I know you are, but…” he pauses. “It’s not every day a girl slits her wrists.”

Despite how physically awful Emma feels, she manages to make a face at him. “It’s not funny when _you_ say it.”

“It wasn’t funny when you said it the first time, either,” he counters.

“Alright, mission accomplished. Make Auntie Emma regret ever making a joke. You do realize that you’re terrible at making jokes, though, right?” She keeps her gaze steady on him as he walks from the bed to the small fridge they keep in the corner of their spacious room.

“I’ve been told I’m not the funniest guy around,” he replies.

“Huh. Well, that’s an understatement, darling.”

“Em, just try to rest, ok?”

“I _am_ resting. I’m quite tired, actually, so I don’t mind taking a bit of a break here.”

“I have to go debrief the team.” He crosses back toward her and sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at her. For the first time since she’s woken up, his face is gentle and soft. He looks at her with almost as much tenderness as he does with worry. It’s always these moments, these expressions, that hit her the hardest.

“You haven’t already done it?” she asks, frowning.

He shakes his head. “No. My first priority was getting you here and taken care of.”

“You could have debriefed everyone while I was in surgery or whatever it was they did to pump me back full of blood,” she points out.

Scott shakes his head again, quiet as he hands her the glass of water. She hadn’t thought she was thirsty, but now that she sees the water in the glass, she realizes she’s actually parched, and she drinks eagerly. In a matter of seconds, the glass is drained, and she lowers it.

“Get some rest,” Scott says softly, taking the glass from her to fill it back up. “I’ll be back soon, but if you need me, you know how to reach me.”

“Alright,” she replies. She waits for him to leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps sitting still beside her and looking at her.

“I love you,” he says out loud. His voice is matter of fact, but there’s something intimate lying underneath his words.

“I love you, too, darling.” She almost reaches out to touch his hand, but too much movement with her wrists makes the pain a little sharper through the dullness of the painkillers. “But I’m all right. Really. I’m just tired and annoyed.”

Scott places his hand on her cheek, and he leans forward to kiss her on the forehead. “I know. I just wanted you to know I love you, babe.”

“I know, sweetness,” she replies, her voice going soft like his. “Now go. The team is waiting for you, and I can barely keep my eyes open.”

Emma gives him a little smile so he knows she’s ok, closing her eyes as he kisses her forehead one last time. As she slides down under the covers to burrow underneath them, she tucks her hands inside the sleeves of Scott’s sweatshirt. She can smell him all around her, feel the little bits of his presence that cling to the fabric. Even though she doesn’t frequently wear sweatshirts, she loves to wear his. Scott’s sweatshirts are a symbol for a side of himself that only she gets to see, a Scott who wears sweatshirts and basketballs shorts whenever he wants to feel comfortable and at home.

And she’ll never say it, never even let Scott eavesdrop on her thoughts to hear it, but she finds comfort in the sweatshirt. She finds comfort in him. And as she drifts off to sleep, she lets the warmth of his sweatshirt replace the warmth of his arms.


	2. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to worldispaintedblack for reviewing!
> 
> Sorry it's taken me so long to update! I was hoping to have a schedule set where I update every other Monday, but it seems I've fallen behind on that, though I'll try to do better.
> 
> Just a quick trigger warning, but there's more talk of attempted suicide and suicide recovery, so please proceed carefully if that's something that's triggering for you!
> 
> As always, I love feedback, so let me know what you think!
> 
> Enjoy! =)

For the first time in forever, Emma sleeps hard, her mind even allowing her to rest. Whether that’s because she consciously tries to quiet her mind or because her brain is simply too tired to work, she doesn’t know, but she doesn’t care enough to find out, either. She just wants quiet, and that’s what she gets for the first time in a very long time. Usually, her dreams are full of memories, other people’s thoughts and dreams when projected too strongly in close proximity to her, and different manifestations of her psyche, but now she doesn’t dream at all. She simply sleeps.

She stays in a deep state of rest until the pain medication starts to wear off, and she finds herself groggy but conscious, sharp stabs of pain running up along her forearms to remind her of her reality. Wincing, she tries to pull the covers back up over herself without moving her arms more than necessary. She’s always been a restless sleeper, Scott being the one to keep the blankets in place during the night while she just flings them around to her heart’s desire. Scott always makes sure that she stays covered up and tucked in if he notices she’s thrown them off at any point in her sleep, but now he isn’t here, and Emma finds herself shockingly cold and in pain.

“Damn,” she mutters out loud. Her throat hurts, and her voice sounds every bit as pained as she feels. She tries to swallow as she reaches out for the full glass of water Scott left for her on the nightstand, the movement causing the stabs of pain up her outstretched arm to intensify. Sharply, she hisses, almost surprised by how much it hurts, and she clenches her teeth together. “ _Damn_.”

Despite the pain and despite the fact that she doesn’t want to think about anything beyond reaching her glass of water, she finds herself thinking back to Christian again. Considering all the horrors and dramas she’s experienced in her life, particularly over the past few years, his attempted suicide feels like it happened centuries ago. And yet she doesn’t have to close her eyes to remember the feeling of his emotional pain and how it had seeped into her skin then. It might feel like it happened forever ago, but the memories of it all are still very present in her mind if she lets them be.

So she doesn’t. She allows herself a quick second to remember—the memories of what happened to her with the telepath tug at her, dying to be acknowledged, but she won’t let herself think about it now, either—and then she shoves all thoughts away. Pain shoots up both of her arms again as she struggles to sit up, but this time, she welcomes the pain if it means she’ll focus on that instead of what’s going on in her head and her chest. Slowly, she takes a couple tentative sips of her water, and she quietly sighs in relief over how good it feels just to get rid of the cracked, sandpaper feeling in her throat.

Much to her displeasure, she realizes she needs to pee, and she sets her glass back on the nightstand. She still feels like shit, and every movement feels 30 times slower than normal because every limb just feels that much heavier. Careful not to cause any more pain for herself, she eases herself up off the bed and starts toward the bathroom, trying to ignore the dull pounding of her head and the ache in her arms.

She’s slow making her way into the bathroom. Every step seems to take the time it’d take her to walk to the bathroom and back to bed, and it sure doesn’t help that the inside of her brain feels like it’s about to explode. _One step_ , she silently tells herself. _One step at a time._

As she finally reaches her destination, she wryly thinks that had she known simply going to the bathroom would have turned into an hour long ordeal, she would have just stayed in bed and gone on herself instead. (She knows that that isn’t true, but it feels good to say it to herself.) Everything seems to take longer now, and that’s probably the biggest frustration of all. If she moves too quickly, she’ll be in pain, but if she moves too slowly, she loses patience with herself. Nothing is going at the pace she wants it to, and she can’t help how quickly she finds herself losing patience with her own body.

By the time she manages to get to the sink to wash her hands, Emma’s already exhausted and ready to get back in bed. She lifts her hands to wipe them on the soft white towel hanging by the side of the sink, but she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and she pauses. As much as Emma Frost would love the world to believe that she looks 100% perfect 100% of the time, she has bad days. She gets zits and weird patchy-looking spots on her skin, and she has a bad habit of chewing on her lips, which can lead to them looking poorly, too, but she prides herself on how well she can cover up all of her flaws. She might not look perfect all the time, but she’s damn good at making people believe she does.

Yet as she looks in the mirror, she sees a version of herself she’s never seen before. Staring back at her is a tired, groggy face with dark circles under the eyes and absolutely no color whatsoever in her cheeks. She’s always been pale, but this level of paleness is a whole new thing for her, which she notes with a certain starkness she usually keeps reserved for noticing other people’s flaws. She leans forward to inspect her face more closely, blinking several times as if the deep, dark bags beneath her eyes will go away just from blinking, and she blinks again when she’s surprised that they don’t. She’s so busy noticing how rough she looks that she misses the feeling of Scott’s presence as he enters their bedroom.

“Emma?” he calls out. The sound of his voice snaps Emma out of her self-examination, and her eyes widen when she realizes that she’s no longer by herself. “Emma, are you in the bathroom?”

“Yes,” she calls back, and then she clears her throat. “I’m in here, darling.”

A few seconds go by, and it’s then that Scott’s head appears around the corner, meeting Emma’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “Hey. I was worried. You’ve been asleep for a while, and then I came in here, and you weren’t in bed.”

“I’m sorry,” she replies. “I was just assessing the damage.”

“Damage?”

She nods towards her reflection with an expression of mild disdain. “I didn’t know I looked _that_ awful. I suspected I looked a bit under the weather but that…”

“You look fine,” Scott lies, and she shoots him a look that tells him she knows he’s lying. “Honey, you were just mind-controlled by an incredibly powerful telepath who nearly succeeded in making you kill yourself. I think you’re allowed to not look beauty queen perfect at the moment.”

She makes an irritated sound and runs a hand over her hair, smoothing down some of the flyaway parts. “The sooner I look like I’m back to normal, the sooner everyone will _believe_ I’m back to normal.”

“No one’s expecting you to bounce back right aw—“

“How was the team?” she asks, cutting him off. “I’m assuming the debrief went well?”

Scott’s mouth twists to the side a little bit the way it always does whenever he has something to say, but he’s biting it back, and then he swallows as if to swallow down the urge to speak. Still looking at her in the mirror, he nods and crosses toward her. “Yes. Everyone’s worried about you.”

“Now why don’t I believe that?” she asks with a small eye roll.

“They are,” Scott insists, his face serious. “You’re a member of this team, Emma. They know your value.”

_But they don’t completely trust me_ , she thinks, though she quells that thought before it escapes her brain.

“What did you tell them?” she asks instead. Her voice comes out a little more sharply than she’d intended, but she doesn’t apologize for it, nor does Scott appear to feel that chastised by her.

“All I told them was that the mutant we were looking to recruit lost control of the situation and had you harm yourself before he completely lost control of his powers.” He pauses to gauge her reaction, but she doesn’t give him one. “It wasn’t necessary for them to know the specifics. All they know is that you’re recovering now.”

She makes a sound and shakes her head. “I’m already recovered. After that nap, I feel fine. Even if I don’t _look_ fine.”

Scott doesn’t believe what she’s saying, and deep down, neither does she, but he doesn’t fight her on it for the time being. They both know it’s a fight that’s inevitable, but Emma just hopes she can keep it at bay for a little longer until she’s better before it happens.

“I missed you,” she admits after a few silent seconds. “Your sweatshirt is comforting, but it’s never quite as warm or as lovely as you are.”

Finally, Scott smiles a little, and he walks up behind her, wrapping his arms gently around her waist and resting his chin on the back of her shoulder. “I was very worried about you.”

“I know.”

“Yeah, yeah. I keep saying so.”

“No. I could feel it.”

“Oh?”

“Remember when you said you could feel me thinking at you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s how it is, too. I can feel you thinking at me, and I could tell you were worrying.”

He tucks his face into her shoulder a little bit more, covering his mouth as if he’s hiding it, but Emma can see the corners of his small smile. “Can you blame me? A very powerful mutant nearly killed you yesterday. Jesus, Emma, you flat-lined.”

“I—what?” She looks at him, surprised to hear this new information. “I actually died?”

“Briefly. For a couple seconds, your heart stopped beating, and we all thought you were dead.” Scott’s arms tighten around her waist, though whether it’s intentional or not, Emma doesn’t know. In the mirror, she can see that his face is as calm and stoic as ever, but his voice sounds like he’s forcing himself to stay under control. She places gentle hands on top of his as she looks at him in the mirror, still purposefully avoiding looking at her wrists.

“I’ll keep saying it as many times as I need to, but I’m ok,” she says with a very small smile. “I got the rest I needed, and I should be good as new for our meeting tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Scott gives her a confused look. “Babe, I think your days are mixed up. The meeting with the team is tonight. You slept through all of yesterday and most of today.”

“Oh, right,” she says hastily, shaking her head quickly with a little laugh. “Right. I’m still on some strong painkillers, so I’m just a bit fuzzy. But I’m going to the meeting tonight.”

“Emma, you’re—“

“If it were you, you wouldn’t have taken any down time at all,” she points out as she effectively cuts him off. “Part of the reason why I even agreed to lie down for a while was because I knew you’d insist I take a small grace period before I got back in the field, but I want to. I’m mentally and emotionally sound, and I’m usually not involved in the thick of the fight, so you don’t have to worry about me being slow if we fight with anyone. I’ll be off to the side doing my telepath thing like usual.”

Scott’s mouth turns down at the corners to show how unhappy he is, and the lines in his forehead deepen as he frowns. “I’m different, though.”

Emma’s eyebrows shoot up, and she gives him a warning look. “What, because you’re the leader, darling? Or because you’re a man?”

“You know what I meant.” 

“Do I?”

“Emma.” Scott sighs heavily, and he moves to the side so he’s leaning his hip against the bathroom counter. He keeps his hands on her, still keeps his arms around her, but he just changes how he faces her. “My worry for you goes beyond simply loving you and wanting to keep you safe. I’m thinking from my standpoint as a leader. You’re more than just my girlfriend—you’re our most valuable telepath and one of our greatest strategists. I can’t lose you because I love you but also because you’re irreplaceable.”

“I think you’re trying to compliment, but somehow, it feels like you’re thinking about me as a team member and only a team member,” she says with a frown.

Immediately, Scott shakes his head, and he lifts a hand to tuck a piece of her blonde hair—which she probably needs to touch up the roots for, she realizes—back behind her ear. “Will there ever be a day when you know and trust that I love you?”

Emma’s first instinct is to go diamond, to shut him out, and had she and Scott been new in their relationship, she probably would have, but she pushes the instinctive thought out of her mind as she looks up at him. She knows she looks awful. She knows the circles under her eyes are dark and worrisome, but she lets him look her directly in the face, anyway. “I do know that, Scott. I do. I know it in every inch of my body, and I have the best lie detector right here.” She lifts her hand up to tap her temple. “But I need you to know and trust that I’m ok, too.”

“I do,” he insists, but she gives him another look.

“If you knew and trusted that, you wouldn’t be so insistent that I stay in bed when I’m perfectly fine,” she points out. “Scott. Darling. Let me go to the meeting. I’ll be fine, and it’ll disappoint the others to know that I’m quite all right.”

His mouth twitches in a bit of a smile, but he still looks unconvinced. “Will I still be allowed to worry about you?”

“Just silently, dear. Just silently.”

* * *

 

It’s a slow process to get ready, but Emma finally manages to shower, clean up, and get dressed in an outfit that covers her newly dressed wrists by the time the meeting rolls around. She doesn’t feel like herself, but at least she looks like herself, she thinks as she checks over her reflection one last time in the mirror, again avoiding her wrists. Scott had been the one to change the dressing, and she’d looked away the whole time as if the walls of the bathroom had suddenly become the most interesting things in the world to her. If she looks at the damage, she’ll be reminded of everything, and she still isn’t ready to deal with it all right now. Not now. Just not now.

“If you don’t take your arm from around me, I’ll remove it myself,” she murmurs to him as they near the doorway of the conference room. “No affection beyond what we normally do in front of them, remember?”

“Considering the fact that almost every single member of the team has walked in on us in a compromising position at one point or another, I think that that’s a mildly ambiguous statement,” Scott replies under his breath, but he moves his hand to just the small of her back in a quiet but still supportive gesture.

“That’s better,” she says approvingly, taking the initiative to walk into the room first. Almost everyone is already assembled, and as Emma feels their eyes all turn on her and Scott, she feels remarkably self-conscious. She doesn’t know what they suspect about her injuries, but she also doesn’t want to probe into their minds to find out just in case she finds something she doesn’t want to see lingering beneath the surface.

“Well, the queen certainly looks like she’s feeling better,” Logan says drily as Emma passes him. “Slim made it seem like you’d be out of commission for a while.”

Emma shoots Scott a pointed look, but she keeps her face emotionless other than that. “And your sense of humor still hasn’t improved since I’ve been in recovery.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny, sweetheart,” Logan retorts, but he smirks as he says it in a silent way of letting her know he’s not being overly serious. “When I saw Slim bring you in yesterday, you looked in bad shape.”

Emma takes her seat next to Scott and looks over at Logan with a hard to read expression. “What did you see?”

“A whole lot of blood,” he answers, honest as ever. “Certainly more than I’ve ever seen come out of you, Frost.”

“Minor injury,” she flippantly replies, and she gives him a smile just as cool and flippant. “I’m all better now after a long bath and a nap.”

“Everyone, I’d like to get this meeting started,” Scott announces. He stands up to draw everyone’s attention toward him, and he looks around to take silent attendance. Nightcrawler, Wolverine, Angel, and Colossus are in place in addition to himself and Emma, and Emma watches his mouth twitch just a little with approval. Leaning forward and resting his hands on the table, he switches into Scott The Leader. “We need to discuss our next plan of action.”

“Shouldn’t we talk about that Omega Level mutant?” Piotr asks. “If he was strong enough to take out Frost, then what does that say?”

“Well, he’s dead, so I don’t see much use in discussing it,” Scott replies, the leader in him nearly effortless by this point as he answers straight and to the point.

“How are we supposed to prepare for that?” Piotr counters. “Frost is our strongest telepath, and if this child went through her as easily as you implied earlier, then I don’t even want to think about what that means for the whole team.”

“He’s dead, Peter, so it doesn’t matter,” Scott repeats, this time giving him a hard look. “We’re already taking the necessary precautions and planning. Emma and the Cuckoos are in charge of that since telepathy is their area of expertise.”

This is news to Emma, but she doesn’t show any reaction on her face. She’d suspected him to call together a task force to deal with it, anyway, so she isn’t surprised, but she hadn’t expected him to announce it so suddenly at tonight’s meeting. However, it’s completely like Scott Summers to just make plans that involve her and not tell her until they’re in a team meeting in front of everyone, an occurrence that’s happened before and something she’s told him to quit doing, and yet he can never remember to give her a heads up.

“Colossus has a point,” Logan chimes in. He rubs the back of his knuckles and looks at Scott. “It’s all fine and everything that you’ve got the blondies working together to find a solution, but I’m concerned about what precautions we’re _all_ supposed to take so we don’t get fucked.”

“I’m handling it, and I’ll debrief once Mindee, Celeste, Phoebe, and I construct a plan,” Emma cuts in, drawing the attention to herself. “We won’t leave you all in the dark, darlings. There’s enough for everyone.”

“And until then?” Kurt speaks up.

Emma’s eyes are cool and closed off as she turns her gaze to him, and she smiles just a little bit in that frosty way she knows still makes the team uncomfortable around her. “Until then, I’ll take care of everything.”

_That’s a comfort_ , someone says, voice dripping in sarcasm, and Emma’s head snaps in the direction of the sound.

“You don’t believe me?” she asks, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice. “How many times do I have to nearly get killed for this team to prove that I’m one of you?”

Scott’s forehead wrinkles in a confused frown. “Emma?”

“Honestly. How many times do I have to save each of you before you understand that I’m not the villain anymore?” she snaps.

“Frost, no one’s doubting your ability to do anything,” Logan says as Scott reaches out to touch the back of her hand. Quickly, Emma yanks her hand away and looks around at everyone, eyes blazing.

_What the hell’s going on?_ Warren’s thoughts ask.

_What’s happening?_ Kurt’s mind wonders.

_What the fuck’s gotten under her skin?_ Logan thinks.

_Cyclops should have made her rest longer_ , Piotr silently muses.

“I don’t need rest,” Emma says, directing her comments towards Piotr. “I’m fine. I rested, and I’m ok, but it’s damn frustrating to have my team doubting me after I was nearly skewered trying to advance the mutant cause.”

“Emma, no one’s doubting you,” Scott says, his frown deepening. “We all trust you to keep the situation under control, and you will.”

Emma looks at him, and she feels how fast her heart is racing. She feels the blood pounding in her veins, the thoughts of panic rushing through her brain. After all the control she’s struggled to maintain in front of the X-Men throughout the years, one small comment from someone on the team—she can’t remember who—and she’s snapped. Suddenly, she finds her moment of clarity, and she feels self-conscious with all these eyes on her. Trying to mask it, clenches her jaw and takes a deep breath through her nose, also hoping it’ll calm her down. Everyone’s looking at her, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d swear that they could see her feelings dashed across her face. But they don’t. She can read their minds, and the only thoughts she reads are of worry and confusion. They’re all worried, yes, but she knows their worry isn’t about her.

Slowly, she inhales and then exhales, looking back up at Scott. “My girls and I will handle the issue of the dead telepath. Whenever we’ve devised a plan, we’ll update the entire team. 

Scott pauses, doing that thing where his mouth twists when he has something to say but won’t, and then he nods just once. “Good. The X-Club is looking at the boy’s remains to see if there’s anything we need to pay attention to.”

“What about the boy’s family?” Kurt asks.

“Dead.”

No one speaks for a couple moments after that, and then when Scott moves on, no one mentions the telepath again.

* * *

 

The meeting lasts an hour, and then it’s over with little additional conflict. By the time everything’s over, Emma feels drained and depleted. She’s ready to go back to bed, but she doesn’t let any sign of exhaustion pass over her face as she passes Logan and Warren on the way out of the conference room, nodding back at them when they nod at her. Scott’s stuck inside talking to Kurt about something, but she’s glad he isn’t beside her to fret over how she’s doing and whether or not she’s as ok as she’s presenting herself because it’s exhausting trying to keep herself together in front of everyone.

As she walks back to the wing she and Scott occupy, she can feel Scott’s worry poke at her from all the way back in the conference room. She knows she should have waited, should have let him walk with her back to their room, but she’d been too tired to wait. She’s just too tired and needing the next dose of her prescribed painkillers too much.

She reaches their room and immediately starts changing into comfier clothes. Her face calm and soft, she lifts Scott’s sweatshirt and pulls it over her head when she has her top off. “Never thought I’d miss you.”

“What’s that?” Scott asks as he comes into the room behind her.

“I was talking to your sweatshirt, Summers. Not you,” she says, smirking a little at him and hoping he doesn’t pick up on how tired she truly feels.

“I thought you were going to wait for me after the meeting was over.”

“I didn’t want to give any clues away. If I let you get too hover-y, people will start to talk.” Her face melts into an expression of discomfort due to the angle of her arms as she reaches down to pull at the bottoms of her pants.

“Are you hurting?” Scott asks, worry instantly filling his voice. Emma doesn’t know why she bothers to hide anything from him. It’s like he can _sense_ it, and she takes a moment to look at him, wondering if he’s secretly a telepath.

“No,” she lies.

“You’re due for another pill.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to take one, I suppose.”

She doesn’t even need to ask Scott to bring her the bottle. He just does it automatically. She’s quiet as she watches him move, watches him take of everything for her. Sometimes it surprises her how in sync they are with each other. If someone had asked her a year ago if she thought she’d be this involved with Scott Summers’s life, she would have said no, but now, she can’t picture herself being anywhere but intertwined with every aspect of his life. She thinks this as he crosses toward her, pills in outstretched hand for her.

“Thank you, darling,” she says, and she takes them. With a quick swallow of water from the glass beside the bed, she’s got the pills in her system, and she quietly exhales.

“What happened in the meeting?” Scott asks gently, finally approaching the subject she’d hoped they were going to ignore.

She rolls her eyes a little and looks annoyed. “Someone thought they were being smart and said ‘That’s a comfort’ when I said I would take care of everything with Mindee, Celeste, and Phoebe.”

Scott’s eyebrows knit closer together, and his lips purse just a little bit. “No one said anything. Someone must have thought it. Who was it?”

“I…I don’t know.” Emma lifts a hand to her head, and she closes her eyes for a moment. “But I’m certain I heard it out loud. I know the difference between someone’s spoken voice and someone’s inner voice.”

“But you don’t know who said it?”

“No.”

“Emma, no one said anything. It had to have been someone’s thoughts you were reading.”

She sighs a little, letting some of the heavy tiredness she’s feeling come out, and she opens her eyes to look at him. “Maybe it was. I don’t know. I’m quite tired, and I’m on so many bloody pills right now it’s a miracle I can see straight.” Scott opens his mouth, but she shakes her head quickly. “I’m fine, though. I’m fine. Just tired. All I need is some rest tonight.”

The muscle in Scott’s jaw tightens, and when he nods, the movement is stiff, unsure. “Ok.”

“You do believe me, don’t you, darling?”

“Of course.” He leans forward and kisses her cheek, his mouth warm and caring as always. “Rest up. I’m going to finish writing out some of these bills, ok?”

She’s silent as she nods, and she leans against his touch for a brief moment. “Ok.”

“I love you, Emma.” Scott trails his hand down her cheek, a little path of warmth following the touch of his kiss. He always looks so intense and serious whenever he tells her he loves her, and at first, Emma had teased him for it, but now she loves the intensity of his statement. She forces a tiny smile and nods.

“I love you, too, darling. Come to bed soon?”

“Of course,” he repeats, again brushing some hair out of her face. Emma tucks her legs under the covers, and she watches him leave. Sometimes it worries her how much she goes to sleep without him by her side, but tonight, as she drifts off to sleep again, she finds that she’s grateful not to feel the weight of his worry beside her.


	3. Snapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to punkdentist for reviewing!
> 
> I know that Emma's childhood/origin is kind of spotty since she has that solo series that is kind of...worthy of a side eye, and I know that she's also had an origin where she was sent off to a psychiatric hospital, so I've kind of combined the two and taken parts I liked and parts I didn't!
> 
> I love feedback, so please let me know what you think!
> 
> Again, I'd like to issue a trigger warning for suicide, primarily suicide by hanging, in the beginning of this chapter so please be safe when reading!
> 
> Enjoy! =)

“Emma, how could you?”

 Christian stares down at Emma as he dangles from the rope around his neck.

“Christian!” she screams, reaching for him, though she never gets any closer.

Her brother’s eyes are dead and cold already, but they leave a chill she’ll never be able to thaw out. “You can’t even let me die correctly.”

“Christian, no! Please, no!” She can’t breathe. She can’t think. She just knows she needs to get to him, but she can’t.

“Dad’s right about you. You’re not good enough. You can’t do anything right. You always fuck it up for the rest of us.”

 Please—please no!”

“Emma.”

“Christian!”

“ _Emma_.”

“No, God. Please, no…no…”

“Emma!”

Emma snaps awake, and she sits up, gasping hard. No matter how deeply she inhales, she can’t seem to get the oxygen she needs. Desperately, she claws out into the darkness until she feels warm hands on her shoulders.

“Emma, it’s me. It’s Scott. Honey, I’m here. I’m right here.”

She can’t see in the dark, but she picks up on the force of his worry, the intensity of his emotions as he watches her. In the back of her mind, she registers tears flowing down her cheeks, and she ignores the pain in her forearms as she brings her hands to her face to wipe her tears away.

“Oh, my God,” she gasps.

Scott reaches for her, but she doesn’t go to him. In fact, she pulls away from him, and she pretends she can’t feel the pang of hurt that goes through his chest, though he never lets his face falter. Instead, he keeps an arm open for her just in case she changes her mind, and Emma can feel his gaze on her in the darkness. “You were projecting. I…I saw your dream.”

“What? You—you what?” She hates herself for sputtering, but she’s barely in control of her breathing, let alone her words. Her heart races beneath her ribcage, and it’s all she can do to keep from clawing her skin open to rip out the overactive organ and crush it in her bare hands.

“I saw what you…what you were seeing. In your dream. You were projecting what was going on in your head.”

“I’m fine,” she says, moving into autopilot as she tries to calm down. She hasn’t felt a dream that acutely since…God, she can’t even remember the last time she’s had a dream that intense. Maybe the night after Genosha? Does she even remember Genosha, or does she remember what everyone’s told her about it?

“Emma, please,” Scott pleads, or at least it’s the closest he’ll get to pleading, to begging. “I’m not a psychologist, but I’m willing to bet that your dream and…and what the telepath did to you ar—“

“I’m fine, Scott,” Emma repeats, cutting him off. “Everything’s all right. I just…I don’t know what that was. I don’t usually…”

“Emma, please,” he says again, and he holds his arm out to her. “Please.”

This time, she doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t move closer. Scott takes that small sign as encouragement, and he scoots just a couple centimeters in toward her. When she doesn’t move away again, he reaches out and puts a hand on her back. Scott’s touch always comforts Emma, but tonight, she stiffens a little beneath his palm, though she still doesn’t move away.

“I’m all right,” she says out loud, and she sounds a little more in control of herself now. “The telepath made me relive some things, and my brother’s attempted suicide was one of them. But I’m ok. I just had a dream.”

“You don’t have to be ok all the time,” Scott murmurs, but Emma shakes her head.

“No. I know. But I’m fine. Really, Scott.” She doesn’t add that she can tell he doesn’t believe her. He knows she knows, and she doesn’t feel like having this fight. If anything, his disbelief just makes her want to convince him even more, and so she smiles at him. She forces a smile on her face, and she reaches out to touch his cheek. “I won’t dream anything else morbid for the rest of the night.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asks, his hesitance noted in the tension of his mouth.

_No_ , she thinks.

“Of course,” she says, and she smiles.

* * *

 Scott makes a breakfast of bacon and peanut butter waffles for her the next day, and when she kisses him on the cheek as a thanks, taking the plate with her to the door with the excuse of needing to grade papers on her lips. Emma can feel his disappointment and hurt, but she smiles brightly for him.

“Stop by my office anytime,” she says, taking a large bite of her waffles for him so he doesn’t think she hates them. “I’ll be taking care of mundane things and could use a distraction around…noon?”

She means to flirt with him, but Scott either doesn’t pick up on it, or he chooses not to respond to it. Instead, he looks at his watch. “That’s around the time your dressings will need to be changed, anyway, so I’ll be by then to do it for you.”

She almost tells him not to bother, but she values following medical orders to a tee, and so she keeps her mouth closed, nodding. Taking another bite of the waffles, she makes an approving sound. “These are great, darling. You did well on breakfast this morning. Thank you.”

“I know you love peanut butter.” Scott smiles a little, almost an apology more than anything else, an apology for something he didn’t do.

“They’re lovely. Thank you.”

“I’ll see you at noon, sweetheart.”

“It’s a date, my love.” Emma flashes him one last smile on her way out, and she silently, privately thanks him for not insisting that she take today off after the night she’d had last night. She’s never projected her dreams before, and she doesn’t know how she managed to loosen her grip on herself so much so that she’d projected her nightmare for Scott. And of all things to dream about, too, she chastises herself. It frustrates and annoys her that her own non-genuine suicide attempt has brought back the feelings of Christian’s attempted suicide, emotions she’d never wanted to feel again.

She reaches her office and unlocks it just as she finishes the bacon accompanying the waffles. It’d been sweet of Scott to make her breakfast, especially something involving peanut butter. Most of the time, he’s a great cook, and he certainly didn’t disappoint today, but Emma hadn’t been in the mood to sit and feel his overbearing worry and pity at the table in their kitchen. She feels guilty over leaving him standing in the kitchen beside the island they usually ate breakfast at, but she doesn’t feel guilty enough to go back to him and find him. He’s a big boy, she reasons to herself. He’ll be ok and get over it.

Despite having told Scott that she needs to grade papers, she actually doesn’t have that many to grade. The students have been working hard doing other things, and she’d found a soft place in her heart to lighten up on the homework over the past week until the students were back on their feet again. Of all people, she know what it’s like to have a lot on her plate, and if she can help keep her students’ lives as simple as possible for as long as she can, then she wants to do it.

Just as she sits down at her desk, she feels like she’s been hit by an overload of memory. It’s not memory so much as feeling, but it’s also something beyond feeling. Out of nowhere, she feels like she’s been injected with everything the telepath had forced her to feel. The mental block in her brain goes down, and she’s consumed with an onslaught of all the things she’s worked so hard to keep hidden. Years of work and mental blocks, and she’s suddenly drowning in them.

Emma’s lost in everything and how it feels, and she grips the front of her desk, gasping at the intensity of the pain that’s swelling up in her chest. Right as she’s about to scream out or call for Scott or—or _something_ , the feeling is gone, and she’s left staring shocked at the door in front of her. She has no idea what just happened, but she feels every bit of it burn through her as it leaves, the aftereffects every bit as strong as the event as it had taken place.

It’s been a week now. She should be over this, she thinks. She’s been a little extra snappish with people, and she’s woken up several times because of horrible nightmares, but she shouldn’t be this shaken up. Even though Scott won’t say anything to her about it, she knows that he’s worried and only keeping his mouth shut out of respect for her healing process. But after last night, she knows that he’s bound to break and talk to her soon. Yes, she’s had brutal nightmares over the past week, but she hasn’t projected them so anyone around her could see them until now.

“Miss Frost? Miss Frost…Miss Frost, I have a question?”

Emma’s attention snaps back into her body when she realizes she isn’t alone. Megan Gwynn with her perky nose and her bright beautiful wings is standing in her office with an expression of concern and nervousness on her face, she’s talking to Emma. Emma manages to quiet her mind again as she pulls herself up tall in her seat, looking over at the younger girl and feeling a spike of annoyance at just how _pink_ Megan’s hair is. She knows Megan can’t help it, but there’s just something about its brightness that Emma can’t appreciate today.

“What is it, Pixie?” she asks irritably.

“Are you all right?”

“I’ve been reading and recording emerging telepath’s journal reflections this morning.  Therefore, I have read a bunch of grammatically incorrect paragraphs on the inability to do the simplest tasks. Do you think I’m all right?” Emma counters, her voice as cool as her sharp gaze. Megan’s face changes from confused and nervous to overwhelmed, and Emma sighs. “Never mind. I’m fine.  What can I help you with?”

She lifts her hand to tuck a piece of blonde hair back behind her ear, and she pauses for just a half-second as she remembers the dressings hiding beneath her gloves. Thankfully, Megan’s not the most observant teenager, and so she doesn’t seem to think that anything is out of place, which Emma’s grateful for. Staying casual, Emma finishes tucking her hair back and watches as Megan shifts a bit back and forth.

“I was wondering where Mr. Summers is?”

“Don’t phrase statements like questions, Pixie. It makes you seem like you have no confidence, and no one will take you seriously,” Emma says with a sigh. “As for where Mr. Summers is, the last time I saw him, he was going to talk to Dr. McCoy.”

“Ok.” Megan nods and then twists her hands around a little. Even if Emma couldn’t read people’s thoughts, she’d know that there was something going on in Megan’s mind that she wants to address but doesn’t know how to bring it up.

“What is it?” Emma asks. She doesn’t know if her head hurts because of the painkillers, the emotional response from her dream during the night, or Megan’s thoughts flying faster than she does. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just pluck the question out of your mind. Please save us the embarrassment.”

“Well, I was just—I was wondering if you’re ok,” Megan says quickly. “Last week, Mr. Summers said you got hurt, and you look fine, but I was just wondering is all. That’s all.”

“I’m fine, Megan. Thank you for asking.” Emma wonders how many times she’ll have to say “I’m fine” over the next couple weeks. Knowing Scott, he’ll ask her about 40 times a day, even if he won’t ask her what’s going on with her.

“Alright,” Megan says, nodding. “I just…I just wanted to check. I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Thank you, Megan.” Emma reaches up and rubs her temple as a dull throb starts to build up behind her skull. “Is there anything else you need, or isn’t there somewhere else you need to be?”

“No, Miss Frost,” Megan replies, but she doesn’t move.

“Then why are you still standing here? Chop chop, now. Move.” 

“Sorry, Miss Frost.” Megan’s cheeks go a little pink, but she takes a couple steps back.

_You’re falling apart_ , Emma hears in her own head. _You’re a mess_.

“What did you say?” she asks out loud as she narrows her eyes. She hadn’t meant to turn on her telepathy, but she must have let it slip to hear those thoughts. She stares hard at Megan as the girl swallows nervously.

“I said, ‘Sorry, Miss Frost.’”

“No. I heard what you thought, Megan,” Emma says harshly. Her anger rises by the second, and she can’t seem to control it.

“What? I didn’t think anything, Miss Frost. At least not that I remember,” Megan argues, her usual fiery self starting to kick back in as she realizes Emma’s accusing her of thinking something bad. “I just wanted to know if you were ok, that’s all. I swear. I didn’t think anything.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Emma warns.

“I didn’t! I’m not lying!” Megan keeps protesting.

“Don’t—“

“Miss Frost, I—“

“Don’t!” Emma yells, and she feels like a wave of every negative feeling she’s ever had is washing over her. The wave consumes her until she can’t see Megan or any other part of her office. All she sees is the telepathic representation of her own emotions covering her. When the anger drains out of her voice, when the wave starts to slowly wash away, her hands shake when she sees Megan lying on the floor unconscious. Suddenly, panic fills her, and she runs to her student as her mind starts screaming for Scott, for Dr. Rao…anyone. “Megan? Megan, wake up. Pixie…Pixie, oh God…oh my God…”

The next few moments happen in a blur, and Emma finds herself floating in a space of her mind that doesn’t feel all that conscious. She sees Dr. Rao, hears Scott’s voice. Scott’s face is in front of hers, and he’s yelling something at her, but she has no idea what he’s saying. She just keeps repeating a phrase over and over.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. Scott—I didn’t know.”

* * *

 

“Emma, I need you to tell me what happened.” Scott hands Emma a cup of tea as he sits down opposite of her. Emma doesn’t remember how they got to his office, but she’s sitting on the couch he keeps inside for moments like this. All the mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, friends and significant others who have sat on this couch and listened as Scott had told them something had happened to their loved one. She can feel every emotion ever had on the couch, and she shifts, her muscles tense now as she feels all of it in addition to her own current confusion.

“What…?”

“Emma.” Now Scott’s hands are on top of hers. “I need you to focus. Are you here with me, honey?”

Slowly, Emma nods, and she shuts down the part of her brain that’s picking up all of those extra feelings. Hell, she can barely even deal with her own feelings right now let alone hundreds of strangers’. “Yes…yes, I’m here. I…I’m just…”

“What happened with you and Megan?” he asks, and he gently nudges the tea toward her. “Drink that. You need a little something in you right now.”

Emma starts to look down at the mug, but then she remembers the dressings around her wrists, and she keeps her eyes on Scott’s glasses as she lifts the mug to her mouth. “Megan came to see me.”

“And what happened?” Scott’s gaze is level and warm, and Emma wonders if their students feel this protected and comforted whenever he talks to them like this.

“She just had a couple of questions.” Emma frowns as she tries to think past the clutter in her brain. How the hell did all of these extra thoughts get in her mind in the first place, she wonders, pushing past them all. “She asked if I was ok because she heard I’d been hurt last week, and she just wanted to see if I was all right. She wouldn’t leave, even though I told her I was fine, and then it was like…it was like I heard her thoughts, and she called me weak.”

Scott nods a little, though he looks hesitant, as though he doesn’t want to hear the answer. “What happened then?”

“I…” Emma’s face freezes, and she stares at Scott in horror. “No. No, I…oh, my God.”

“Emma. Emma, hey.” Scott moves his hands to her face. “Look at me. You’re ok. You’re all right in this room.”

Emma almost asks Scott if he knows, but she can tell by the way his mouth is drawn that he knows what she did. “You know.”

For a moment, he hesitates, pauses like he isn’t going to answer, but then he thinks twice of it, and he nods. “Yes. I got the Cuckoos in the Infirmary with Pixie to telepathically heal her mind. You didn’t do a lot of damage but just enough to overwhelm Megan and make her pass out.”

Emma’s hands fly up to her mouth, and she blinks hard through the tears. “Oh, my God. I did that. I—“

“Emma.” Scott puts his hands back on her wrists, gently trying to pull her hands away from her face. “Megan’s ok. She’s going to be all right. The Cuckoos were able to heal her with no problem, and she woke up asking for juice with no memory of what happened.”

“But I—“

“I know,” he interrupts. “And I know you won’t like what I’m about to suggest, but it needs to be done. Emma, you need time off. You need to take time and come to terms with what happened to you. Christ, you’re still recovering.” Behind his glasses, his eyes drop down to her wrists. “You’re out of the field and out of the classroom until you’re better.”

“What?” She stares up at him with incredulous eyes. “Scott…you can’t—you can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” he says, his voice confirming it for him. “I know you, so I know you’d never willingly hurt a student. I know that whatever you’re going through is hard, and I won’t let you do it alone.”

“Scott, I can’t—“

“Honey, it’s not a request.” He looks back into her eyes. “We’re in charge of kids here. Students. You’re a teacher first and foremost, Em. This is what you love to do. You love your students, and you’d give your life for them, especially Megan, who greatly admires you. So to attack them? Not like you. Not even Hellfire Club Emma would have attacked innocent students like this. So what I’m telling you isn’t a request, but Em, you’re not going to be alone.”

“You keep saying that, but what does that mean?” she snaps angrily, tears still in her eyes. “You’re just going to send me off to a facility or something like that where I’ll have to take group therapy with all kinds of people who won’t understand that I truly didn’t try to kill myself?”

Scott’s quiet as he looks at her for a beat, and then he shakes his head no. “No. I wouldn’t do that to you. Where we’re going…it’s a bit more secluded.”

“Oh, so you’re sending me to a private ward or something? Like my father did?” Emma’s anger starts to rise again, and she starts to stand when Scott smiles just a little. He smiles, and she stops.

“No,” he says slowly. “I’m not sending you to a private ward. I’d never do that to you. Ever. I promise. But where you’re going, I’m going with you.”

Emma frowns, even more confused. “What?”

And now his smile widens just a fraction more. “Pack your bags, honey. We’re going to Vermont.”


End file.
